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Book , J. 3^ I 1 1 5 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



THE MASQUE OF MORNING 



THE MASQUE OF MORNING 

AND OTHER POEMS 

By 
EDWARD VIETS 




Boston 

The Four Seas Company 

1921 



\ 



Copyright, 1^21, by 
The Four Seas Company 

All rights are expressly reserved. For rights of public 
performance, please address the publishers who are the 
author's, agents. 



While the author will in general be pleased to grant 
permission to any amateur players who wish to present 
any of the Masques contained in this book, it is required 
that such application be made through the publishers 
before production is attempted. 



The Four Seas Press 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



JUL -1 '21 

©CI.A622107 



CONTENTS 

Page 

A Word About Production 7 

The Masque of Morning 9 

Noon, An Interlude 19 

The Masque of Evening 23 

Hark, How Jubilant the Morn ... 33 

Fountain of Remembrance 34 

A Woodland Idyll 35 

Fallen Petals 36 

In April Time 37 

Sadness With a Veil Goes By . . . .38 

Little Good Night 39 

Love's Jail 40 

The Broken Vow 41 

The Nymph and the Brook .... 42 

Depression 43 

Love's Wound 44 

Hymn to Phoebus Apollo 45 



A WORD ABOUT PRODUCTION 

The Masque is simpler than the pageant, and 
at the same time more dramatic. Simpler in that 
only a few persons are required, more dramatic 
in that language is used. Being simple, and 
generally short, as well as suited to outdoor pre- 
sentation, it is still the ideal form of entertain- 
ment for groups who like intimate as well as 
artistic effects. 

Either of the Masques in this book can be 
presented effectively by itself, but a better effect 
possibly might be obtained by combining the two 
Masques, (with the Interlude, Noon) as one. 
The Masques of Morning, Noon and Evening 
may then be considered to constitute a single 
Masque of Day. In such case it is merely 
necessary to use some means for indicating the 
passing of time — ^to divide the act into scenes, 
so to speak. 

For outdoor presentation all the scene requires 
is a small knoll or rise of ground to represent a 
hill. The side of the knoll facing the audience 
should be steep or even overhanging — a straight 

[7] 



drop of three or four feet would be ideal. The 
purpose of this is twofold : first to give a prom- 
inent footing for the boy Dawn, and second to 
provide a natural and obvious hiding place for 
the shadows which are surprised by Dawn, and 
later routed by him. Bushes or stones would 
also help here. 

If presented indoors this effect could be easily 
obtained, and even better lighting effects could 
be produced, because sharper and quicker. In 
the matter of characters represented, a greater 
or smaller number of Shadows can be used 
than specified, according to the persons available. 
As many as a dozen could be used, or as few as 
two or three. 



[8] 



THE MASQUE OF MORNING 



CHARACTERS 

Dawn. Should be a boy (or girl) not older than 
twelve. Dressed in yellow, wearing a wig of 
yellow curls, bareheaded and barefoot. Pink 
cheeks. Wings at the shoulders. In the right 
hand a bright round shield, in the left hand a 
gilt goblet. A horn at his belt. 

Poet. A young man, preferably. Tousled hair 
and wrinkled coat, for he has been sleeping in 
it. A book sticking out of his pocket. 

Tramp. A ragged, but fat vagabond, good na- 
tured and sottish. 

Five Shadows. Boys or girls, five to eight 
years, dressed some in black, some in gray. 



THE MASQUE OF MORNING 

Outdoors. A small, grassy knoll having a rather 
abrupt face. At the side of the knoll a Poet 
and a Tramp, lying on the grass asleep. Sev- 
eral Shadows in front, who have just paused in 
their gambols and taken attitudes of listening. 

First Shadow 
Hark, whose footsteps 
Do I hear? 

Second Shadow 
Is it Dawn 

Approaching near? 

Third Shadow 
Crouch and dwindle, 
Skulk and hide; 

Fourth Shadow 
Tis the hour 
Of morningtide. 



Fifth Shadow 
Scurry under, 
\ Lurk behind; 

First Shadow 
Dawn must not 
Us shadows find. 

Second Shadow 
Under rock 

And under bush 

Third Shadow 
Say no other 
Word but, hush. 

Fourth Shadow 
Lips say hush 
Lips say hush, 

Fifth Shadow 
Dawn must never 
Find us. Hush! 

[The Shadows have retreated and are crouching 
against the face of the knoll. 

Dawn is hidden behind the knoll, hut with each 
of the first four words he speaks he rises fur- 
ther into view over the brow of the knoll.] 

[12] 



Dawn 

Trip, trip, trip, trip, 

And with a leap, Fm here; 

All pink and gold, a minute old, 
Hullo, awake, what cheer! 

Poet 
[ Waking. ] 
Why, here is Dawn. 

Tramp 
[ Waking. ] 
Yah, now we got to get up. 

Dawn 

Up, you sleepy mortals, up! 
In my hand I hold a cup. 
Filled with momentary dew; 
Poets drink it, why not you? 

Poet 
But I am a poet, wonderful boy. 

Dawn 

Drink, for these are magic drops, 
Only found on high hill tops. 
That from wild flowers I have shook 
With my rosy toe — and took! 

[13] 



Poet 
[Drinks.] 
Now am I drunk with lyric joy, 
And could with thee, my darling boy, 
Spurn lofty hills and leap wide vales. 
And waken nymphs in bosky dales — 

But tarry, tarry, whither away! 

Dawn 
Tarry? that I never can. 
All too soon I'll be a man. 
I must run a nimble race. 
For the day doth come apace. 

Tramp 
What! Do you have to work? 

Dawn 

If you watch me you will say, 
I am busy as the day. 
Chasing shadows behind trees. 
Into hollows, over leas ; 
Waking all the sleepy-heads, 
Rousing country lie-abeds. 
But there's one I do not hear. 
Where art thou, brave Chanticleer? 
[Rooster crows.] 

[14] 



Tramp 
Oh, so many years ago I used to hear that sound. 

Dawn 
Hear the echoes flying wide, 
Clatter o'er the country side 
Waking hamlet, town and farm 
With melodious alarm; 
Waking Jack and rousing Ned 
From their cosy attic bed. 
Country smells are in the air, 
Cow bells tinkle from afar; 
Milkmaid whistles in the lane. 
Horses neigh and neigh again. 
Swallows twitter, cattle stir. 
See, the farm house door's ajar! 
He that still can stay in bed 
Is the worst old sleepy head. 

Tramp 
By golly, nefer have I in that way looked at the 
matter before. 

Poet 
Whither now my golden curls? 

Dawn 

To make rubies out of pearls. 

[15] 



Poet 
And then, marvelous boy? 

Dawn 

The town hall clock ten miles away 

Must be painted ere 'tis day; 

And then, to please the country people 

I'll gild the tallest village steeple. 

Run, you naughty shadows, hide, — 

Farewell mortals, luck betide! 

[Dawn approaches to the edge of the knoll, the 
Shadows flee in every direction, then Dawn 
leaps, and pursuing them, disappears. 

Tramp 
Good bye, little feller. 

Poet 
Must thou be off, dear boy? So youth doth fly 
Ere it hath touched me twice; so happiness. 
So love, so life itself, and every pleasure 
Scarce greets me ere 'tis time to say farewell. 
Speed thee, sweet lad, and gild a hundred steeples 
While old men nod! Soon comes the searching 

day 
When brass and rust look through thy morning 

gold, 
And iron becomes the color of the world. 
Would I might follow thee, aye, steeple high, 
[i6] 



And no more footsore than thy radiant toe 
Pricked by the tallest spire! Than Chanticleer 
Himself with his full voice could scarce exclaim 
My shrill and piercing syllable of joy! 
But, here upon the earth my path is laid 
Close to the heart of man; and for a space 
Full sorrowful I walk, this way and that, 
Searching for Truth, to find at last — my grave. 



[17] 



NOON 
An Interlude 



CHARACTERS 

Poet. As before. 

Noon. A middle-aged, bearded man, wearing a 
linen duster, and a farmer's straw hat. 



NOON 
An Interlude 

A pleasant meadow. 

Poet is seated on the grass, reading a book, but 
rises when Noon enters. 

' Poet 
Who are you? 

Noon 
I am the boy that was, now grown to man. 

Poet 
Are you the frolic lad that danced at dawn, 
An inch above the brim of yonder hill? 

Noon 
I am high noon. 

Poet 
Alack that babies must grow up. 

And dawn turn into day; 
But men grow old, and love turns cold. 

So wags the world away. 

[21] 



Noon 
When husbandmen sit down beside the grain, 
And Jack and Rover He beneath the tree; 
When plowman wipes his brow and sighs amain, 
And drinks his gingered water thirstily; 
When bells do ring, and hired men sit round 
To buttermilk, and beef, and lemonade, 
When dogs with lolling tongues pant on the 

ground, 
And harvest hands pitch quoits beneath the 

shade ; 
I come, serene and calm, majestic noon. 
And with an even stride walk through these 

lands ; 
I bring to parched fields a midday boon. 
And for an hour I soothe hot labor's hands. 
Cool shade, a darkened room, a tinkling glass, 
And sounds of distant laughter as I pass. 

Poet 
A benison go with thee, kindly noon, 
And tread but lightly on the parched grass, 
Now bruised by leathern heels. Farewell, fare- 
well. 



[22] 



THE MASQUE OF EVENING 



CHARACTERS 

Poet. As before. 

Tramp. As before. 

Girl. 

Evening. A bent but venerable old man, with 

flowing white beard, and bareheaded. Wears 

cloak and carries a staff. 



THE MASQUE OF EVENING 

A meadow crossed by a wall or a fence, with a 
gate. On one side of the gate stands the Poet, 
on the other side the Girl. Towards the front 
the Tramp sits on the grass, nodding and 
snoring. 

Poet 
While wise men sleep, may not two lovers kiss? 

Girl 
But if they wake. Oh, then 'twill be amiss. 

Poet 
Are not we wise to have such love as this ! 

Girl 
Then we should nod, while foolish lovers kiss. 

Poet 
Then nod towards me, and I will nod towards 
you. 

[25] 



Girl 
Oh, such a nod as that would never do. 

Poet 
You speak quite bravely when the gate's between. 

Girl 
'Tis not a high gate, that is plainly seen. 

Poet 
Lead feet that should have wings, I'll seize thee 
now. 

Girl 
But if you seize too hard, I'll cry out "ouch". 
[Poet leaps the gate.] 

Poet 
Your cries shall not be heard ten feet away. 

Girl 
Rascal, thief, ruffian, mercy, sweetheart, pray! 

Tramp 
[In his sleep.] 
Help! Police! Murder! 
[Enter in the distance Evening, toiling along.] 

Girl 
Look, someone is coming! 

[26] 



Poet 
An old man. 

Girl 
Is he not old! And feeble! 

Poet 

Can it be — 

Girl 
Who? 

Poet 
Can it be — Evening? 
See how he toils along. His infirm step 
Stumbles at pebbles, and his bending staff 
Gropes for the path that grows increasing dark, 
Shadows on either side. Fll speak to him. 

[Evening draws near.] 
Sir, I do reverence you, and ask your name. 

Evening 
I am evening. 

Poet 
Are you the ruddy boy whose roguish smile 
Brought dimpled light through all this dusky 
vale? 

Evening 
A boy I was, I trow — but I am old, 
I scarce remember — merely know — I'm old. 

[27] 



Girl 
So it will be with me, and you, dear love! 

Poet 
And you, and you, and you. Who shall escape ! 

Evening 
How strange this place! It was upon this hill 
If memory still holds, I stood a boy 
Poised on a pebble, whence I leaped ten miles 
To yonder distant peak. Alack the day 
These rusty hinges now do scarce avail 
To bear me to my grave, laden with years. 
'Tis twilight time; now yonder distant bell 
Calls with a voice of bronze across the fields 
Telling of labor done. Let drop the scythe, 
The sickle and the fork; the sturdy plow 
Lie where it falls, hid in the shadowy ground. 
Let those whose legs are young dance through the 

night 
And at the husking bee kiss sweaty lovers. 
Their steps shall be like velvet to my ears, 
And all their mirth shall not invade my slumber, 
Wrapped in the silent mold where no dreams are. 

[He reclines slowly.] 
Who that is old would not lie down with me, 
And give his hard bones to the yielding moss. 
The world fades, and the trees are sunk in mist ; 
The paths that late I trod are swallowed up, 

[28] 



And all the sounds of Earth grow indistinct — 
The cries of children, the lament of love, 
The voice of passion, the alarm of war, 
The stir of men, the clash of hostile arms. 
The shouts for help, the cries of frightened 

women, 
Laughter and widows' woe, love, hate, fear, 

strife — 
As though they sounded centuries ago 
Come faintly on the ear — I heed them not. 
I have no wish but only to lie here. 
Twilight, a purple flower, its bloom unfold. 
And when night comes — let it take — what it will. 

Girl 
Dead! 

Poet 
Asleep ? Which ? 

Girl 
Who knows? 

Poet 
He is gone, that once was youngest of the earth. 
Farewell — I follow. The appointed hour 
Will come when I who am both young and strong 
And all on fire with love, will plod like him, 
And on some destined plot will fling me down 
Weary of earth, and these same lips shall say: 

[29] 



I have no wish but only to lie here ; 

And when night comes — let it take — what it will. 

Tramp 
[ Waking. ] 
What, is the old man dead? 

Poet 
Aye, he is dead. 

Tramp 
Oh woe. Oh woe. Ain't that too bad. Oh that's 

pitiful. 
It'll get me yet. It's terrible. I don't want to 

die. 

Poet 
Sir, by your leave, I saw this old man die, 
And took much courage from it. If this be death, 
To sink into the moss when we are done. 
And draw the blanket of the leaves above us, 
While blades of grass do whisper all around us, 
And nodding violets tangle in our beards. 
Then why dread death? Time with his graving 

tool. 
Wherewith he scars our high and stubborn fore- 
heads, 
Hath laid his blunted instrument aside 
And with a soothing finger left this message : 
These years have rolled above Ijhy head, and now, 
They leave soft silver on a serene brow. 

[30] 



SOME OLD FASHIONED LYRICS 



HARK, HOW JUBILANT THE MORN 

Hark, how jubilant the mom 
Blows upon his yellow horn! 

Hear, ye hills and valleys wide, 
Hear, you far-flung countryside. 

While the pale moon paler grows 
And the day star fainter shows — 

Waken to the lusty horn 
Blown by jubilating morn! 



[33] 



FOUNTAIN OF REMEMBRANCE 

Flow, flow, salt tears, 

In hollow vale where sorrow stoops alone; 
Till, dropping, dropping, through the patient 
years. 

Ye wear away the stone. 

Come frost, come snow. 

Come summer drought and wind and lashing 
rain. 
Still shall these faithful drops in cadence flow 

Again, and yet again. 

Majestic woe, 

In meditative marble bend thy head, 
From sculptured grief these drops again shall 
flow. 

Long years when thou art dead. 



[34] 



A WOODLAND IDYLL 

When the brook was a fiddler 

And fiddled of glee, 
And the breeze, that old peddler, 

Brought perfumes to me; 
The mouse and the lion 

Were married, I'm told, 
While the guests drank red wine 

From buttercups gold, 

From cups tall and gold! 



[35] 



FALLEN PETALS 

Red rose upon the bough, 
Ah, you must pluck it now, 

For tomorrow its perfume is fled; 
Beware, beware, 
Thorns guard the fair, 

Perils protect each lovely head. 

Come dew, come dropping dew. 
Fall softly neath the yew. 

On the blossom whose glory is gone; 
Unplucked, unwed, 
Withered and dead, 

Poor petals that fall one by one! 



[361 



IN APRIL TIME 

When Aprirs kirtle first is seen 
And plashy footprint on the green, 

Hullo 

Let's follow 

Through field 

And hollow. 

Who seeks for her and finds her not, 
Hath read too much, too deeply thought. 

For see 

'Tis she. 

Agog 

With glee 

Calling to those who tumble after, 
Filling the woods with girlish laughter ! 

Tomorrow 

For sorrow 

While April 

We follow! 



[37] 



SADNESS WITH A VEIL GOES BY 

Sadness with a veil goes by, 

Slow of step and deep of sigh, 

Oh, me, Oh my, 

A heavy sigh 

That would wet an old crone's eye, 

Seeing such a fair maid die. 

Oh fe. Oh fi, 

A deep-drawn sigh, 

Draw it from a well hard by; 

Hear the waters wash below. 

Faint and slow, 

Far below, 

Yet some sorrows deeper go, 

For an old crone told me so. 

Oh me, Oh my, 

The deepest sigh 

Will be forgotten by and by; 

The deepest well will yet go dry, — 

So may the anguish 

In thine eye. 



[38] 



LITTLE GOOD NIGHT 

Good night, by candle light, 
Under the bed clothes creep ; 

Silver and gold, so I've been told, 
Aren't worth so much as sleep. 



[39] 



LOVE'S JAIL 

In the donjon of my heart, 
Slave and prisoner thou art. 

Languish there. 

And no other food shall eat 
But the breath of kisses sweet; 

Such thy fare. 

In these arms enchained be, 
While thy jailer watches thee; 

Linger long. 

Freedom wears a gaudy coat; 
Captives sound a sweeter note; 

Ends my song. 



[40] 



THE BROKEN VOW 

So he pledged me his love 

In a goblet of wine; 
And by Jesus above 

He swore to be mine. 
But he wedded a lass 

That lives down by the sea; 
So alas and alas 

For a lassie called me — 

For a lassie called me. 



[41 



THE NYMPH AND THE BROOK 

First here, then there, 
Then lightly through the air! 
Oh, how hard it is to stop 
Balanced on a pebble's top! 
Then to stoop and lightly drink 
Level with the water's brink. 
Ouch, you chilly brook, let go; 
Sprites and fairies have my toe. 
My white skirts are not for you, 
Nor my ankles bathed in dew. 
If you let me not alone 
I will seek some stepping stone, 
And one finger I will shake 
At the prattle that you make. 

Boy that tries to be a man, 
Come and catch me if you can! 



[42] 



DEPRESSION 

The rain beating down, ever downward. 

The earth with sad waters opprest; 
A gray abyss that was skyward, 

And a dull black ache in my breast. 
Out there the grave of my comrade, 

And the soimd of the sod in my ear — 
And my heart is the heart of yon storm cloud 

That broods low o*er the sodden moor! 



[431 



LOVE'S WOUND 

Cupid, with thy golden quiver. 
Boy that bends thy bow in glee; 

Mischief maker, trouble giver, 
Oh, hast thou let fly at me? 

Why, ah, why 

This leaden sigh, 

When Corinthus is not nigh. 

Crimsoned is the white goose feather, 
That did guide thy nimble dart; 

For thy twanging cord of leather 
Hath clean driven through my heart. 

Wounded I ! 

Oh, me. Oh my. 

Of such wounds do young maids die? 



[44] 



HYMN TO PHOEBUS APOLLO 

Out of the gates of morning, 

Into the vale of song, 
Voices that come from heaven 

Carol in chorus strong: 

Hail, hail, hail, hail! 

Hail to the Sun's great glory, 
Hail to his robes of light, 

There on the eastern mountain 
Stands he in splendor bright. 

Fire from his hand he hurleth, 
Unto the farthest plain! 

Wake all ye people rejoicing, 
Day has returned again! 

Hail, hail, hail, hail, 

Day has returned again! 



[45] 




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